


The Reason He Tempts Us

by Sproid



Category: Eastwick (TV)
Genre: American Frottage Day, Flirting, Frottage, M/M, Magic, Smoking, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sproid/pseuds/Sproid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Warlock!CKR has sex with Darryl Van Horne.</p><p>--</p><p>The lit match jumped in the wind, despite Darryl’s hand cupped around it. Holding his eyes as he leaned in, Bryn slid his hands around Darryl’s, and rubbed a rough thumb slowly over the back of Darryl’s fingers.</p><p>“Are you trying to get yourself burned?” Darryl enquired, not immune to the thrill of the brief caress.</p><p>Bryn touched the end of his cigarette to the flame, and then leaned back. “I’m not afraid of a little heat.”</p><p>Darryl blew the match out before he got too distracted watching Bryn’s long fingers on the cigarette. “Well then. Anytime you want more than just a little heat, you know where to find me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reason He Tempts Us

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, Lydia suggested that CKR!Warlock in Eastwick should be A Thing. My brain caught hold of this idea and spent far too much time - and had quite a lot of fun - turning it into a fic. This wouldn’t exist without your idea, Lydia, so thank you!
> 
> Many thanks also to Deputy, for your excellent beta skills and encouragement. Your pointers on how to drive the important points home, and tighten things up, are very much appreciated. As is the help with the title and summary (and the brief education on 16th century dramas). You are right, the beta process is both fun and incredibly useful!
> 
> And finally, thank you to Sea for running this excellent fic fest :D

The air tasted of rain. Darryl tilted his head up to the few wisps of cloud above, and said to them, “Finally.”

Summer was all well and good, the sunshine warming people’s bones and loosening their reserve, but the idyll had stretched on for long enough now. A storm would stir things up quite nicely.

And what a storm it looked to be, he thought, closing his eyes and drawing in a breath. Beyond the horizon, clouds were beginning their slow dance around each other, forced into motion by as-yet gentle winds on their way to gather in number. It would be a veritable force indeed by the time it reached their little town. Already he could sense the sparks of lightning lying in wait, the thunder biding its time to make itself heard, could feel the power that it was bringing -

Darryl opened his eyes. Well now. Something else was coming with this storm. 

There was magic entwined with the power of Nature, wrapped skillfully around the energy of the storm, so well matched that he’d almost missed it.

“Isn’t that interesting,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Double the excitement.”

\--

The storm was every bit as brilliant as Darryl had hoped. It arrived two days later, mid-afternoon on a not-so-unremarkable Wednesday, and raged on well into the night. 

From the upstairs windows, Darryl watched while gusts of wind slammed the rain into the glass, inches from his face. Lightning split the sky, blindingly bright in the black of the power outage which had followed the storm’s arrival. It hit the sea, and lit up the waves as they crashed over the cliffs. Their sound was lost beneath the crack of thunder, but Darryl could feel the vibrations through the foundations of the house.

Somewhere out there, Roxie and Joanna and Kat were tucked away together. They’d invited him, but he’d declined. Their first time together with Nature’s energy to enhance their joining, should be purely with each other. The next one, he’d join them for.

For now, he was concentrating on something else. In the air, trails of quicksilver magic were separating from the storm, coming to Earth with each strike, then sliding beneath it. There was too much going on for Darryl to be able to keep track of them after that, but the process was fascinating to witness. 

Tomorrow there would be a new power in town, and Darryl would dig out some of the old books. For the moment, he simply watched.

\--

Roxie, Joanna, and Kat positively glowed the next time he saw them. Roxie pulled him into a long, thorough kiss in the middle of her shop, fizzing with energy against his tongue. 

“You missed out last night,” she told him when she drew back, arms still around his neck.

“You kinda did,” Kat agreed, while Joanna added, “Definitely.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he told them, smiling as Joanna yawned and rested her head on Kat’s shoulder. “You three obviously had fun. I’ll keep an eye on the weather forecast; we can take advantage of the next storm that heads our way.”

“What did you do last night, anyway?” Roxie asked, stepping back to join Joanna and Kat.

“I watched.” Joanna narrowed her eyes at him. He waited a moment. “The storm, of course.”

“That’d better be all,” Joanna told him with a glare.

It wasn’t, of course, but he wasn’t going to tell them about what he’d seen. Not yet, not until he knew if it was harmless or a threat. 

In the meantime…

“Can I take you lovely ladies out for dinner this evening?”

\--

The new energy blended in with Eastwick almost at once. Darryl had to admit that he was impressed. 

He could find its source if he wanted to, but it really was incredibly well disguised. In fact, it was only the sheer strength of power, impossible to conceal completely, that gave it away. Whoever it belonged to had clearly spent a very long time building their strength, and honing their skills. Darryl was rather looking forward to meeting them in person.

When it happened, Darryl almost didn’t realise. Only for a second, of course, because no matter how much practice this stranger had at hiding himself, Darryl had rather more experience in seeking out power.

Still, when the bell over the cafe door rang, Darryl spared only a moment’s glance for the nondescript, if scruffy, character who walked in. He was just about to return to the rich indulgence of his morning coffee, when the man settled himself at the counter. With his presence came a sure but subtle shift away from the lazy flow of the morning to something more focussed, and Darryl’s attention was caught.

The man must know that Darryl was there - Darryl was making no attempts beyond the usual to disguise himself - and yet, he made no move to turn around. Was he indicating that he didn’t consider Darryl to be a threat? Or was he just attempting to avoid conflict?

Well, Darryl decided, he wasn’t going to find out by sitting here.

As he approached, the stranger looked up and pushed his hood down. From the display that Darryl had witnessed during the storm, he’d been expecting something akin to the mighty warlocks portrayed throughout history. Instead, this man reminded him of sea and sand; a mess of dirty-blonde hair, and blue eyes which looked too young for the weathered lines of his face.

“Good morning,” Darryl said. “I’m Darryl Van Horne. Welcome to Eastwick.”

Those eyes travelled over Darryl with no rush - an assessment of what kind, Darryl wasn’t sure, although he knew already which kind he wanted it to be. When they met Darryl’s again, the stranger nodded. Lips curving into a smile that said he liked what he saw, he asked, “Do you greet everyone who’s new in town?”

Taking that as an invitation, Darryl took a seat. “Only the ones who make their way to my cafe.”

The man looked at the napkin which lay between them, with “Janice’s” printed across it. “Your cafe? You change your name recently?”

The innocuous question was accompanied with a knowing glance, and a smirk when Darry replied smoothly, “I own it on paper only.” Oh yes. The stranger definitely wasn’t here by accident. “The cafe and all its delicious creations belong to the talented lady you see making her way towards you at the moment.”

As Janice took the man’s order - black coffee, and a plain bagel - Darryl watched. The ever-friendly Janice chattered away as usual, but while her questions were all replied to warmly and politely, the man gave no more away to her than Darryl had already gleaned.

“So,” Darryl said, when the coffee had been poured, and Janice had disappeared to get the bagel. “Speaking of names. Do you happen to have one?”

“Yeah,” the man said. Then he gathered seven packets of sugar, poured them all into his coffee, and waited until he’d stirred them in before he replied, “Bryn.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bryn.”

Darryl held out his hand. After a moment, Bryn took it, hand warm and strong around Darryl’s, revealing nothing apart from that he had exquisite control over the energy within.

When it became obvious that Bryn wasn’t going to say anything else, Darryl enquired, “Do you have a last name?”

Drawing his hand back, Bryn curled it around his coffee mug, and took a long drink. “Don’t have much need for one,” he said with a shrug.

“Places of business such as banks and hotels tend to require them.”

Bryn flashed him a grin, startling in its intensity, gone in an instant. “Yeah, but you already know I’m not staying in a hotel, seeing as you own the only one in town.”

So, Bryn wasn’t afraid of putting what he knew up front. “True,” Darryl murmured, and let his question go unanswered. It was somewhat strange to have someone know more about him than he did about them. It made things all the more interesting. “What brings you to our lovely town then, Bryn?”

“It seemed like a good place for a break.”

Bryn met Darryl’s gaze with a hint of a challenge on his face. _Go on, ask me, see if you can get the right question_. 

Darryl could enquire, ‘From where?’ But he very much doubted that Bryn was _from_ anywhere. ‘From whom?’ Bryn had the self-sufficient air of someone who hadn’t had a ‘whom’ in a long time. 

What he did have though, despite his currently laid-back exterior, was the air of someone on a mission.

“A break from what?” Darryl asked.

Bryn raised his mug in acknowledgement. Entirely straight faced, he said, “I’m on a quest to kill a dragon.” Then winked at Darryl and downed the last of his coffee. “I’ll see you around.” Digging into his pocket, he counted out change onto the counter, picked up his bagel, and left.

Darryl finished his own coffee, and put down a bill to pay for it. Outside, there was no sign of Bryn, although Darryl could sense him around, somewhere. That tickle of awareness was decidedly distracting, as was the memory of the quick wink and flash of humour that Bryn had left him with.

Once Fidel had driven him back to the mansion, Darryl went down to the basement, where he’d had a selection of his books moved to now it had been properly flood-proofed. On a whim, he wandered over to the section on mythical creatures. “Kill a dragon,” he murmured. They didn’t exist, of course. Nonetheless, he didn’t think Bryn had been joking about his quest.

\--

It was a few more days before Darryl saw Bryn again. On a drizzly morning, Darryl was standing beneath the awning of the bakery, watching the younger citizens of Eastwick splash in the puddles, while the older ones hunched their shoulders and scurried between shops. 

A dark figure walking unhurriedly through the square caught his eye. As it headed towards him, Darryl realised that it was Bryn, albeit in very different clothes. The most obvious of them was a long leather coat which hugged his shoulders and flowed downwards around him, stopping just above sturdy leather boots, stylish in their simplicity. 

Now _that_ looked more like the warlock image he’d been expecting. The stature and hairstyle still weren’t quite right, of course. Then again, ‘typical’ was not a word that Darryl would use to describe Bryn.

“I see you’ve decided to go for the stereotype,” Darryl said, when Bryn came over to join him.

Droplets of water clung to the ends of his hair, catching what little light there was, before Bryn ran his hand through it and shook them off. “A disguise doesn’t work after you reveal yourself,” he said. “Besides, coats like these are rare for a good reason.”

“May I?” Darryl asked, nodding at Bryn’s sleeve. 

After a moment, Bryn held his arm out. Carefully, Darryl ran his fingers over the sleeve, feeling for more than just the quality of the material. It was leather, yes, but tanned with age and use, layers of protection weaved into its near-invisible seams. That would explain why the coat wasn’t wet, and Bryn was only mildly damp. 

There were very few people who could make something like this. Most of them had been dead for long, long years. This coat, which had clearly been fashioned exclusively for Bryn, had been around for many times longer than the fifty years which Bryn showed on his face.

“What do you think?” Bryn asked.

Darryl looked to where the sleeve had ridden up over Bryn’s wrist. Slowly, he let his fingers slide down to brush over it, and then the back of Bryn’s hand, watching as goosebumps rose on his skin. Looking up, Darryl told him, “It suits you.”

“It should,” Bryn said, tracking Darryl’s hand as it withdrew. With a quirk of his lips, he added, “It cost me more than I want to remember.” 

Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he came out with a packet of cigarettes. “Got a light?” he asked, holding one between his teeth while he shoved the packet back away.

Darryl ran his eyes over the length of Bryn’s coat. He counted six pockets, and those were just on the outside. Bryn just raised an eyebrow at him, waiting. 

The lit match jumped in the wind, despite Darryl’s hand cupped around it. Holding his eyes as he leaned in, Bryn slid his hands around Darryl’s, and rubbed a rough thumb slowly over the back of Darryl’s fingers.

“Are you trying to get yourself burned?” Darryl enquired, not immune to the thrill of the brief caress.

Bryn touched the end of his cigarette to the flame, and then leaned back. “I’m not afraid of a little heat.”

Darryl blew the match out before he got too distracted watching Bryn’s long fingers on the cigarette. “Well then. Anytime you want more than just a little heat, you know where to find me.”

With a grin, Bryn pulled his collar around his neck. “You bet I do.” Then he walked back out into the drizzle, which closed around him, leaving only a trail of smoke behind, rapidly pulled apart by the rain.

\--

It rained all that week. Darryl caught glimpses of Bryn here and there; twice at Janice’s, another few times going into the hardware store, once wandering around the touristy magic shops that very occasionally sold something of use. He always left just as Darryl was arriving, a quick grin and a wink, _Too slow this time, catch me next time, if you can_.

Darryl hadn’t quite decided whether it would be more fun to take Bryn up on that, or wait him out until Bryn came to him.

Outside the bakery one morning, Bryn stopped just long enough to share a cigarette with Darryl. As a rule, Darryl didn’t smoke, but he made an exception when an attractive man offered him a cigarette which, moments ago, he’d had between his lips. He could afford the indulgence, after all.

Bryn stood close enough that Darryl could smell salt and grass and fresh air, cutting sharp and clean through the smoke. Other than a comment about the game the night before, he didn’t say much. Outwardly, there wasn’t much going on, but the quick flickers of his gaze gave away that he was still sizing Darryl up.

“Tell me,” Darryl said as he passed back the cigarette. “Where exactly _are_ you sleeping?”

“Someplace out of town,” Bryn replied with a lazy smile, before he took his cigarette back and sauntered away.

Oh yes, Darryl thought, this was going to be _fun_.

\--

Darryl didn’t see Bryn again until Saturday evening at the Greasy Stool. It just so happened to be an evening when Jake McMannus had a few too many drinks, and took offence to Bryn. 

For what, Darryl wasn’t sure. His table in the corner afforded him a perfect view of Bryn, and as far as he was concerned, the only offensive thing was that he’d walked straight past Darryl on the way in. Jake clearly had a problem though, all six foot six of him looming over Bryn at the bar, reaching out to shake him with a big hand that caught Bryn’s shoulder none-too-lightly.

The whole bar went quiet, and those in the vicinity backed away. 

Bryn tilted his beer bottle up, downed it in one, then placed it down and slid off his stool to face Jake. When Jake drew his first back, Bryn crossed his arms across his chest, stepped right up to Jake, and cocked his head back. It was like watching a feral cat take on a domesticated Alsatian, only the well-fed, muscled Alsatian didn’t so much as even growl at the scrawny threat, but instead backed away with its tail down when the cat meowed. 

What Bryn had said to Jake to, Darryl could only guess at. The result was that Bryn was left alone with his shoulders tight and face set in a hard gaze. When he looked around the wide, empty circle he was in, Bryn dropped his head, took his coat, and left.

Outside, Darryl found Bryn in the alley next to the bar, pacing up and down as he smoked. When Darryl stepped in, Bryn’s gaze flickered to him, before he carried on with a hint of a growl as he turned away. 

If he thought that ignoring Darryl would make him go away, he was mistaken. Darryl leaned against the wall and made himself comfortable, as much as the bricks allowed. “What did you say to Jake?”

Five stomps down the alley, five back. Bryn stopped in front of Darryl to grind out the glowing stub of his cigarette beneath his heel. It hadn’t done him much good; his shoulders were still tight, and in the dim light of dusk, his face was dark and his eyes glittering.

It wasn’t a surprise when Bryn lit another cigarette before answering. The flare of the flame sent shadows jumping over his face, and lit him in a red-orange glow. 

Breathing out smoke, he replied, “I told him I’d make him regret it.” 

Echoes of low and dangerous lingered around Bryn’s voice and curled their way around the base of Darryl’s spine. For a moment, Bryn leaned in, breath hot on Darryl’s face, body taut with the effort of holding something back. Whether it was the blows which hadn’t fallen inside, or something else, Darryl was ready for it.

But then Bryn whirled away to aim a vicious kick at a can, and resumed pacing, one hand bringing his cigarette up to his mouth every few seconds, the other tensing in and out of a fist at his side. Darryl tilted his head to one side, comparing this tightly-coiled Bryn with the one who gave Darryl slow smiles over his coffee and cigarettes. There was a connection, somewhere, if Darryl could find it.

When Bryn turned around, Darryl pushed himself away from the wall to stand between him and the exit of the alley. “Would you have done? Would you really have made him regret it?” 

He didn’t need to ask ‘Could you have done?’. Bryn might have established himself in town for being polite to shopkeepers, always paying his tab at the bar, scuffing his cigarette over when curious kids went over to talk to him, but at the moment he was radiating anything but mild manners and an intention of avoiding conflict.

Bryn drew to a stop. His terse “Yes,” was clearly intended as a warning, which Darryl ignored.

Stepping closer, not quickly enough to spook Bryn, not slowly enough that Bryn thought he had a chance, Darryl pressed, “Would you have enjoyed it?”

Even from ten feet away, Darryl could see the flicker of heat in Bryn’s eyes. That look was one he recognised from the brush of their hands over that first cigarette. _There_ was the connection.

Nostrils flaring, Bryn threw his cigarette to the ground, and strode towards Darryl. Oh yes, Darryl had him now. 

“I’ll enjoy this more,” he said, half-snarling, half-grinning. Then he was up against Darryl, hand shooting out to grab Darryl’s jacket and yank him closer. 

“So will I,” Darryl returned with a grin of his own, reaching around to grip him by the back of the neck. Bryn let out a low growl and shuddered against Darryl. Then he tilted his head, and pressed his mouth to Darryl’s, hard lips softening only slightly, tongue pushing in far faster than was polite. He tasted of smoke and beer, of barely restrained energy that had been pent up for far too long, and he kissed like he used to know what finesse was, but had forgotten or didn’t care. 

Darryl let him; there was a time for skill, but it wasn’t now. Now was a messy slide of tongues and lips, hard hands dragging bodies closer, frustrated growls when coats and jackets got in the way. Bryn’s hand tightened in Darryl’s hair; a flash of pain, a flare of heat, and Darryl dug his fingers into the tight muscles of Bryn’s neck before tilting his head the way Bryn was urging him to go.

They parted as suddenly as they’d come together, panting, eyes fixed on one another. Bryn drew in a breath, wiped his hand slowly across his mouth, and turned half away. When he turned back, the heat in his eyes was damped, and his hands were slowly uncurling from the fists at his sides. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t - that wasn’t fair to you.”

Darryl smiled, and let Bryn see his teeth. “Trust me, I knew what I was doing when I followed you in here.”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, _definitely_. Here’s an idea; why don’t you come back with me, and I’ll show you?”

Bryn looked tempted, need and anger warring with an entirely unnecessary restraint, but inevitably shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m no fun in this kind of mood.”

Darryl leaned in, watching Bryn follow the movement with a wary, wild look in his eyes. His breath came hard and his hands were in loose fists at his sides, but he didn’t back away. Darryl put his lips to Bryn’s ear and murmured, “You look like every kind of fun to me.”

A sharp exhale, and a shudder, and then Bryn’s hands reached out for Darryl again. They came within inches before Bryn shook his head, then backed away. Pushing past Darryl, he strode for the street, tight fast movements taking him out to disappear around the corner.

Darryl raised his fingers to his slightly bruised, still-tingling lips, and murmured, “Another time, then.” And there would be one, now that Darryl know how to get under Bryn’s skin, and tempt out that side of him which was so promisingly full of fire.

\--

The next day, Bryn was nowhere to be seen. The day after that though, Darryl walked into Janice’s at eleven in the morning to find Bryn already there. At Darryl’s entrance, he looked around, and then slid off his chair, squaring his shoulders as he met Darryl’s gaze. 

Today he was without his coat, wearing only black jeans and a thin t-shirt, sleeves high up on his arms. The clothes, along with the rueful look he wore on his face, made him look more like a recalcitrant teenager than any sort of force to be reckoned with.

Darryl slipped out of his jacket, and draped it over his arm as he walked over. “If you’ve come to apologise, you’ve wasted your time,” he told Bryn. Youthful look and apparent vulnerability aside, Bryn didn’t need Darryl to sugarcoat anything for him. “I believe I made it perfectly clear that I was willing.”

“I know.” Bryn nodded. “It’s not you I need to make peace with, I know that. I figured I owe you an explanation though.”

“Well, that I’ll take.” He waved his arm towards a corner booth, tucked away from the rest of the not-yet busy cafe. “Shall we?”

“Sure.”

Their coffees came, and Bryn sat with his hands curled around his looking into the mug as if it held the answers to whatever it was he was seeking. As he bent forwards, a circle of silver on string around his neck fell free from inside his t-shirt, dangling just off his chest. The edges were worn, as was the intricate symbol which swirled around the silver, but the wear was that of age rather than neglect. Darryl made certain that he could remember the pattern before he leaned forwards to disturb Bryn from his contemplation of his coffee. 

“I think you’ll find that it’s tea leaves that you’re supposed to read.”

“Hmm?” Bryn looked up, brow furrowing in confusion for a moment, before it cleared and a smile flickered across his face. “It’s fine,” he said, taking a sip. Darryl followed suit and leaned back, a little. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

Bryn shook his head. “Lots of things.”

Few of which Darryl was going to be privy to, he gathered. “Are any of them related to the fact that you obviously feel guilty for scaring a violent drunkard on Saturday night, and that you regret kissing me afterwards?”

“I don’t regret kissing you,” Bryn said with gratifying speed. 

“Ah, well, that’s good for my ego to know.”

Into his mug, Bryn said. “Like your ego needs help.” When he peeked over the top of it, the creases around his eyes gave away the smile he was hiding.

“Cheeky,” Darryl murmured, and the lines deepened. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“You’re no fun,” Bryn muttered. Setting his mug down, he tapped his fingers against the side as he looked into the distance. 

“I’ve got ideals,” he said when he looked back. “Haven’t always, do now. Only thing is, when you’ve been travelling by yourself for as long as I have, it gets hard to remember why you stick to them sometimes. I’ve gotta remember that just because I’m angry at someone, doesn’t mean I have to do something about it. 

“I’m more for actions than words though, and sometimes it feels like it’d be a hell of a lot easier to deal with problems by hitting them until they go away. Then you get to thinking that you could make the world a better place if you hit the biggest problems so hard that they stay away forever, and that… That’s not a path I’m too keen on going down.”

Darryl thought there should be another word on the end of that sentence. This was the most that Bryn had said to him in one go though, and he wasn’t about to push before he knew he could get away with it. Nor was now the right time to voice his own thoughts on the merits of dealing with problems in a permanent fashion. There would be time later to persuade Bryn to reconsider.

“And as for kissing me?” he asked instead.

Bryn shrugged. “I try not to mix anger with sex.”

Letting his smile show, Darryl leaned back in. “This sex, is it likely to be any time soon?”

Bryn rolled his eyes. “If you play your cards right, maybe.” Draining the last of his coffee in one gulp, he stood and dug into his pocket to draw out a handful of coins, then put them on the table. “Let me get the coffees?”

Darryl nodded. “Alright. Thank you.” He reached out to pick up a tarnished quarter, and turned it over between his fingers. “Some of these look almost as old as the one around your neck,” he remarked without looking up. When he did, he caught the tail-end of Bryn’s quick movement to cover the silver from view with his fingers. Then Bryn dropped his hand and shook his head as he met Darryl’s gaze.

“Not even close,” he said. “But you’ll find that out when you look it up.”

“You could just tell me about it,” Darryl pointed out.

Bryn tucked the pendant back behind the neckline of his t-shirt. “I could.”

“But you’re not going to.”

“Nope.” With a flash of a smile, that hint of humour coming out again, he added, “Have fun with your books.”

“I could have more fun with you,” Darryl said, but Bryn was already leaving, pausing only to wink as he went out of the door.

\--

On Saturday, the junior school held their annual fundraising fair, taking advantage of a blustery but clear day to draw Eastwick’s residents to the town square. Mid-morning, Darryl put in an appearance. It didn’t hurt to be seen supporting the school, and he had high hopes of finding at least one of the three ladies here as well.

He found Kat and Roxie soon enough. In a pleasant surprise, it turned out that Bryn was with them. Darryl had been intending to introduce them, but apparently the social event had done that quite nicely for him.

The three of them were surrounded by Kat’s gaggle of offspring, four of whom had already received Roxie’s face-painting efforts. The fifth, little Luca, was sat on Bryn’s lap while Roxie drew carefully on his face.

“Good morning,” Darryl called out as he approached. Carefully, he avoided getting between Kat and Luca. As willing as Kat was to trust him enough to get naked with him on occasion, she was still wary of letting him too close to her children. “This all looks like fun. Although I can’t help noticing that Bryn has acquired a child from somewhere.” 

He looked at them, taking in the way that Luca was held securely in place by Bryn’s hand across his stomach. Bryn’s other hand was folded carefully around Luca’s smaller one, which was curled around the tiny amount of Bryn’s hand that it could get hold of. They both looked entirely comfortable where they were. 

“Or has the child acquired Bryn?” Darryl added. “I can’t quite tell.”

Bryn looked up from where he was talking quietly to Luca, and gave Darryl a quick smile. Roxie said “Hi, Darryl,” without looking away from Luca, and Kat came over to ruffle ruffle Luca’s hair, then squeeze Bryn’s shoulder.

“Luca wanted to get his face painted, only he thought it might hurt,” she explained. “When he saw Bryn, he took a shine to him, and decided that it would be alright if Bryn held him. Bryn was kind enough to agree, and now everybody’s happy.”

“It’s no trouble,” Bryn said, head still ducked down over Luca’s. “I like kids. Yours are a lovely bunch.”

“Say that after you’ve been around them for more than half an hour,” Kat said dryly. “They’re more trouble when they’re at home, I promise you.”

With an amused snort, Bryn looked up and nodded. “Yeah, that’s usually the way of it.”

The open, understanding expression on his face closed off a little when he saw Darryl watching. Then Roxie announced “Done,” and Bryn had a wriggling Luca on his hands, which he handled admirably.

“Hey, Luca, seeing as you’re a falcon now, how about we go flying?”

“Fly!” Luca agreed, spreading his arms out.

Kat laughed as Bryn stood up and lifted Luca above his head, swooping him around for a few moments before landing him in Kat’s arms. Shaking his head when Luca reached out for him, Bryn smiled at him, and backed away. “You fly with your mom, Luca. She’ll teach you better than me.”

“Oh, I see, volunteer me for the heavy lifting,” Kat teased, making Bryn smile before she carried Luca over to the others. Darryl didn’t miss the fact that Bryn’s soft gaze followed Kat and Luca all the way, and only got softer when the other children swarmed around their mother.

“Hey, Bryn,” Roxie said. “Before Darryl drags you off, I have something for you.”

Face lighting up almost like Luca’s, Bryn asked, “For me?”

“Yeah. I know, I know, we’ve only just met, how could I have anything for you? Do me a favour and just go with it, alright?” 

Roxie dug around on the table of her sculptures, next to her face-painting table, and unearthed a bracelet which she held out to him. “I’m pretty used to using clay for big stuff, but I got the urge to try smaller things, see if I could make beads, that sort of thing. So I’ve been experimenting with firing and glazing them, and I just finished this last night. Mia - that’s my daughter - dropped her schoolbooks on it this morning, and I swear they bounced right off. Maybe you could use something like that?”

Darryl stood quietly, watching Bryn as Roxie talked. When Roxie finished, Bryn was quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on the beads, wistfulness crossing his face and then disappearing behind blankness.

“I…” Bryn reached out to trace his fingers over the beads, deep reds and oranges strung together by a tough length of twine. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I could. Thanks.” The shuttered expression eased, and he managed a smile as he looked at Roxie. “Would you put it on for me?”

Roxie did, and then she hugged him. Letting go, she said, “And now I’ve made you sad. OK, that wasn’t the plan. Go make out with Darryl or something, that’ll cheer you up.”

“I’ll certainly do my best,” Darryl promised, as Bryn stifled a startled laugh.

“I bet you will,” Roxie said. Winking, she patted Bryn’s arm, kissed Darryl on the cheek, and went back to her table.

“Shall we?” Darryl asked.

Behind the stage, out of use until later in the afternoon, they were shielded from the noise and sunshine which bathed the festivities beyond. Darryl stepped closer, and reached out to cup his hand around Bryn’s face. A hint of stubble rasped against his thumb as he rubbed it across Bryn’s face; Bryn closed his eyes and leaned into it, drawing in a harsh breath.

“Not going to regret it this time?” Darryl murmured.

Bryn shook his head. “No.” Opening his eyes, he stepped closer, quick fingers undoing the button on Darryl’s jacket so that he could slide his hands beneath.

“Good,” Darryl said. Bryn wrapped his arms around Darryl’s waist as Darryl brought his other hand to rest on the side of Bryn’s neck, and then pressed their lips together. Bryn tugged him closer and opened his mouth, hungry, wanting, making not-so-quiet sounds as Darryl kissed him, slid their tongues together, stroked his fingers through the back of Bryn’s hair and gripped him tightly while Bryn’s fingers dug into his sides just as firmly.

_Mine_ , Darryl thought. _Mine, if you want to be._ And now, after seeing those moments with Roxie and Kat, Darryl knew what else to offer to tempt Bryn towards him.

\--

Darryl found the likeness of the silver coin in an old book held together by string and hope, one of the many he’d siphoned from the collection that Bun had built up. It turned out to be an ancient charm, one given to warriors to lend them strength on their travels. How long and how far Bryn had been travelling, and what he had started out fighting for, Darryl could only guess at.

On the next page was a hint. Darryl spent his afternoon reading up on orders of warlocks whose purpose and presence had gone from this world aeons ago. 

When Fidel came in to enquire about dinner arrangements, Darryl closed the book carefully, and looked out of the window.

“Did you know,” he said to Fidel’s reflection, “That in certain parts of Europe, the powers of warlocks depended on their purpose? That purpose, in turn, dictated the source from which they drew their strength. For example, those who were warriors were responsible for the protection of their family, and their village. They could make use their environment to do so, or anything else for which they had an affinity, but their primary source of energy, of motivation if you will, was the people around them.”

Turning, Darryl waited to see if Fidel had anything to say. 

Eventually, the words rumbled out. “What then would happen if such a warrior was separated from his home?”

“What, indeed?” Darryl echoed.

\--

The land outside Darryl’s mansion was bounded by cliffs, with guard dogs close to the house for extra protection. Big beasts, they were perfectly friendly towards Darryl and Fidel, but had a tendency to snarl and jump all over strangers. It was a level of protection that afforded Darryl a great deal of confidence in privacy when he wished it to. 

The last thing that he expected to see when he looked out of the window, was Bryn walking across the bottom of his back yard, Maximillian trotting contentedly at his side.

Outside, Darryl called out, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to trespass?”

With a smirk, stroking Max’s ears, Bryn called back, “Oh, is this your place? Your dog let me in.”

The breeze was warm where it ruffled Darryl’s shirtsleeves, and it blew Bryn’s hair into a new mess as he stood at the end of the garden and waited for Darryl to get closer.

“He seems to like you,” Darryl remarked.

Bryn shrugged as Darryl snapped his fingers, and Max left Bryn with a last nudge at his palm. “Likes you more,” Bryn pointed out, as Darryl stroked his hand over Max’s head, then sent him bounding away to his post with the gesture of an outstretched arm.

“I should hope so,” Darryl replied. “But on to more important things - what are you doing here?”

Unfazed by the bluntness of the question, which Darryl had put on more to see how Bryn reacted than out of any genuine annoyance, Bryn slid his hands into his pockets. “Just out for a walk.” Despite his offhand answer, he wasn’t even trying to project an air of innocence, head cocked to one side while he waited for Darryl’s response.

“And you just happened to end up outside my house?”

“It’s got the prettiest plants,” Bryn replied with a grin. Drawing his hand out of his pocket, he presented Darryl with a chrysanthemum, beautifully pink and somehow uncrushed.

“A chrysanthemum from my own garden, how kind of you. What else have you picked up?”

“From your garden? Nothing.”

When Darryl took a step closer, Bryn grinned wider, and stepped towards him as well. “One day,” Darryl said, dropping his voice just slightly - oh yes, he could do dangerous just as well as Bryn could - “I’m going to work out how to get you to answer questions without giving me the runaround.”

“Yeah?” Bryn leaned forwards, and planted a quick kiss on Darryl, lingering just long enough to make Darryl part his lips, before he stepped back. Whatever he was doing out here, it was obvious what he wanted to do now. “Why don’t you ask me something I want to answer then?”

“Are you angling for an invitation inside?” Darryl murmured, licking his lips as he looked at Bryn, whose eyes followed the movement before he met Darryl’s eyes again.

“Oh, yeah,” Bryn said.

Inside, Bryn shrugged off his coat, letting it lie over a chair before he wandered around the room. Darryl leaned against the doorway, watching the quick movements of his hands out to touch this and that; hefting a whiskey glass, trailing his fingers over the banister, tracing the words down the spine of the book on local history that Darryl kept for reference purposes.

When Bryn found the fencing foil, he picked it up and eyed it with appreciation. “You fence?” he asked, tilting it against the light.

“Only with worthy opponents.” Darryl waited a beat before he added, “Fancy a bout?” He was never averse to a quick round of fencing as foreplay.

“Maybe some other time,” Bryn replied, putting it back down again. Then his gaze slid from Darryl to the corner a few feet away, and the heated intent there morphed into unconcealed excitement. “Now _that_ is one fine sword,” he said, practically bounding over to it. 

Shaking his head, Darryl resigned himself to holding off on the sex for a while longer. Bryn clearly had other priorities, like ogling the broadsword which stood in the corner. It wasn’t the best in Darryl’s collection, but those he kept elsewhere, out of harm’s way. This one was still a weapon worthy of admiration though.

“Can I?” Bryn asked, looking back over his shoulder at Darryl.

This, Darryl decided, he had to see. Technically, the sword was the right size for Bryn, but next to his slight frame it looked even bigger and heavier than it actually was.

“Oh, go ahead,” Darryl replied. “Although if you’re going to do anything more than pick it up, do take it outside. It took weeks to get the decor right in here.”

Outside, Darryl stood back, and gave Bryn space to move. His shoulders tightened as he wrapped both hands around the hilt, and hefted it experimentally, lifting it carefully but surely. Then he took up a firm stance, and the two of them came to life. 

In the low sunlight, the blade flashed as Bryn swung it. It didn’t look anything close to effortless, but Bryn portrayed his mastery of the skill with steps sure and strong, making the blade move for him in powerful, fast arcs. For all that he looked as if a good wind would blow him over, now he was going only where he intended. If he had an opponent, they would be hard pressed to follow him, and harder pressed to defend against the might contained within one slim frame and the sword it wielded.

Panting and grinning, rightly so after working his way around the garden, Bryn drew to a stop in front of Darryl once more. Sweat beaded his brow, darkened his t-shirt beneath his arms, dripped off the ends of his hair. His eyes were alight with the fire of enjoyment. Darryl wanted to fuck him right there and then, while he was still aglow with passion and shaking from exertion, soak it up and then fill Bryn with more so that they could do it all over again.

“Bryn,” he said, pushing away from the doorframe, hearing the edge in his voice that was both arousal and demand. “Inside.”

Swallowing, Bryn nodded. “Yeah.”

Darryl took the sword from him to place it down, and when he turned back, Bryn was on him. Hot hands closed around his arms, and a hard body pressed him into the wall, then plastered itself against him. Bryn worked his thigh in between Darryl’s, and when Darryl gripped his hips and dragged him closer, he dropped his head to Darryl’s shoulder with a low groan. Deliberately, Darryl rubbed his thigh against the crotch of Bryn’s jeans, pressing against the hard length there, and chuckled when Bryn pressed into him with a hot rush of air over his ear.

“Clothes,” Bryn got out.

“What about them?” Darryl enquired, slipping one hand beneath Bryn’s t-shirt and trailing his fingers just above the waistband of Bryn’s jeans.

Shivering, Bryn’s hands tightened almost painfully. Then he lifted his head and shoved Darryl determinedly away. “Get out of them,” he said roughly, already stripping his t-shirt over his head.

In the interests of keeping his buttons attached to his shirt, Darryl followed suit, and kicked his pants off only moments after Bryn had wriggled out of his jeans. “Nice,” Darryl murmured, sliding down his boxers as he looked over Bryn - who apparently did not wear anything beneath his jeans - with a long gaze that got cut off when Bryn stepped towards him again.

“Look later, fuck now,” Bryn said. Darryl agreed.

Pushing Bryn none-too-gently against the wall drew a bitten-off curse from him, but his hips jerked into Darryl’s, and he got a hand around the back of Darryl’s neck to drag him in for a messy, hard, kiss. Their erections slid together, slick and hot between their stomachs, and this time Darryl echoed Bryn’s mumbled exclamation of pleasure. Bryn rocked his hips against Darryl’s, tilting his head back against the wall and making half-impatient, half-aroused sounds.

Giving in to that invitation, Darryl leaned in to lick at Bryn’s neck, tasting the flush hot on his tongue, licking up the sweat which trickled down. Bryn’s hands slid down his back to clutch at his ass, pulling him closer, moving him in time with the rocking of Bryn’s hips against Darryl’s. He growled when Darryl got it wrong, panted out encouragement when he got it right, twisted and pressed and arched into him, open and desperate for Darryl in a way that had Darryl lifting his head and raising his hands to close around Bryn’s face, draw his head up and kiss him as deeply, roughly but surely as he could, until Bryn’s fingers dug into his buttocks and his body tensed as he came. 

Panting, he tore his mouth from Darryl’s, and gasped out, “Your turn.”

“Getting there,” Darryl growled back. Bryn pulled him back into another kiss as Darryl’s cock slid through the mess of come that Bryn had left between them, and his own orgasm followed shortly afterwards. 

Bryn’s hands petted over his lower back, stroking gently, slightly shakily, sending hot shivers up Darryl’s spine until he stilled. When he lifted his head, Bryn arched lazily against him, and smirked when Darryl put a firm hand on his chest to stop him from pressing against anything too sensitive. 

Subsiding, although his eyes said it was only for now, Bryn asked, “Got a shower in this place?” 

“And a bed, too,” Darryl replied. “Let’s make use of them both.”

\--

Sprawled out naked on Darryl’s sheets, hair damp and skin still flushed warm from the hot water, Bryn lay still and let Darryl look at him. His body was marked with scars, long-healed but jagged and sharp, pale white against skin tanned with weather and age. When he stretched, his ribs showed, and Darryl wondered how many times on his travels he’d gone without meals.

Then Bryn let his hand drift down, smoothing it over his nipple, around the deep welt which lay below it, and then down to rest on his thigh where it framed his cock. Darryl took the hint, and crawled over Bryn to touch, now that the edge was off and they could take their time.

Bryn leapt to touch him in return, quick fingers closing over Darryl’s nipple, warm palms pressing against his abdomen, tongue coming out to lick at Darryl’s neck while he worked his hand between them and got it around Darryl’s cock. It seemed they hadn’t quite worn themselves out against the wall, because any languidness disappeared then and there, and Bryn’s eyes darkened when Darryl handed him the lube.

Then he slicked up his inner thighs, stroked the remainder over Darryl’s length, and rolled over to get on his hands and knees. “Hurry up,” he said, looking back over his shoulder.

Seeing as his tone matched Darryl’s impatience, Darryl didn’t hesitate to take him up on that offer. They both groaned as the head of Darryl’s cock nudged against Bryn’s balls, and then again when Darryl reached around to wrap his hand around Bryn’s erection.

“This,” Darryl breathed out, leaning forwards to cover Bryn’s back with his own broader body, taking a moment to savour the heat and the shudders that ran through Bryn, “Was an excellent idea.”

“It’ll be better when you get on with it,” Bryn replied, tightening his thighs and pushing his ass back into Darryl.

“Point taken,” Darryl agreed, and did so with immense satisfaction.

\--

They did their best to wear each other out that night, and then again in the early hours of the morning, when Bryn woke Darryl with a wicked mouth around his cock and wet fingers pushing between his buttocks.

Afterwards, Darryl returned the favour, drawing it out considerably longer than Bryn had managed. Only when those long fingers were twisting in the sheets, when every inch of Bryn was shaking and covered in sweat, when he’d given up trying to urge Darryl on and was just lying there with his eyes screwed shut and needy sounds coming from his throat… Only then did Darryl loosen the tight circle of his fingers around the base of Bryn’s cock, push the other two deep inside his body, and suck until Bryn whimpered and spilled down his throat.

Any sensible person would succumb to exhaustion for a good long while after that. Bryn, on the other hand, crept out of bed at the crack of dawn while Darryl feigned sleep. A few moments later, as Darryl looked down from the window, Bryn appeared in the garden, shirtless and sleepily rubbing his eyes. Darryl watched as he wandered around, but all he did was find a place to sit, turning his face to the sun as it made its way up into the sky.

He was still there when Darryl came down later, apparently immune to the chill of the fall breeze, but more than willing to come back inside. Whether he was sex-starved or touch-starved, Darryl couldn’t tell, but his cool hands slid inside Darryl’s robe the second they were inside the door again, and that rather set the tone for the rest of the day.

\--

Late in the afternoon, Bryn finally closed his eyes for more than just a twenty minute nap. 

He slept open and unguarded, naked on top of the covers, face-down and limbs spread out over the bed. From the doorway, Darryl watched, spending long minutes cataloguing Bryn’s scars, his movements, the words he mumbled in his sleep. Then he watched without any purpose other than enjoyment, letting his eyes wander over the body that was, for now, lying quietly against Egyptian cotton sheets, skin soaking in the the setting sun, the mess of blonde hair, rumpled and ruffled from where Darryl had thread his hands through it earlier.

When Darryl sat down at the edge of the bed and trailed his hand down Bryn’s back, Bryn stirred with a lazy sound, and spread his legs at the splay of Darryl’s fingers over the curve of his ass. “S’ nice,” he mumbled into the pillow. 

Lingering for a moment, Darryl brought his hand up again, tracing his fingers around the bumps of Bryn’s spine, pressing against the muscle and bone which lay beneath. Apart from a twitch and a mumbled complaint, Bryn didn’t move. Darryl flattened his hand along the length of Bryn’s spine, and contemplated the vulnerability of the man laid on on his bed. Oh, he was strong, but asleep, he would have been no match for the countless spells and potions which could have incapacitated him in a moment, loosened his tongue and his mind, taken his wits and his will. Even awake, like this, he’d stand very little chance if Darryl chose to use his strength against him.

Giving in to curiosity, Darryl murmured, “Do you always trust people so easily?”

Bryn rolled over and stretched, bringing his hands up to lace behind his head. “I’ve got bigger enemies to worry about than you,” he yawned.

Darryl’s moved his hand from where it now lay on Bryn’s hip, and curved it around Bryn’s soft cock. “Oh?” he enquired, with a long, slow stroke.

Eyes which had only just blinked away their sleepiness fluttered shut again. Bryn arched his hips, his cock filling in Darryl’s hand. “People are only as dangerous as they intend to be,” he said, voice dropping to a rumble. The next stroke made him gasp, and he reached down to put his hand around Darryl’s, fingers closing firmly to get Darryl to grip him tightly. His length was hot and hard against Darryl’s palm, full and flushed in the tight curl of their hands. “You’re not my devil,” he added.

Drinking in the sight of Bryn, brash and shameless in his hunger, Darryl thought, _I could be_. What he said, as he placed his other hand on Bryn’s hip, leaning just a little of his weight onto it as he pressed his thumb against the soft skin between Bryn’s thigh and groin, was, “Who says I’m not dangerous?”

Bryn reached back and curled his hands around the headboard, tilting his head into the pillows, so that the taut tendons framed the soft skin of his neck, exposing both to Darryl’s gaze. “Oh, I know you’re dangerous.”

“Well then,” Darry murmured, before he leaned down to close his teeth on Bryn’s neck, holding Bryn down with one hand, stroking him with a tight grip and an unrelentingly fast rhythm with the other. Bryn pushed his hips up and got nowhere, arched and writhed and growled out curses that Darryl hadn’t heard in a very long time, and then came apart beneath Darryl with breathless sounds of pleasure.

Darryl looked down at the red mark his bite had left; the chest heaving with exertion; the white knuckles loosening their grip. Bryn’s eyelids were closed and his mouth half-open, legs splayed and stomach covered in come above where Darryl’s hand lay around his once-more flaccid length. There was more that Darryl could do to him. All things considered, Darryl would rather do them _with_ him. He stood, untied his bathrobe, and joined Bryn on the bed.

\--

Over the next few weeks, a large amount of which they spent in bed - and in various very acceptable substitutes around the mansion - Darryl found out that Bryn fucked completely unlike he fought. His face showed everything he was feeling, his body telegraphed every movement before he made it, and he left himself open to be touched, penetrated, taken. When Darryl obliged, taking his pleasure in Bryn’s willing body beneath him, Bryn groaned, growled, shouted out his satisfaction, and gasped out pleas in Darryl’s ear until Darryl joined him.

Never patient, always seeking, his hands would play over Darryl’s body, and draw Darryl’s towards him as well. He was utterly unselfconscious and had no shame in directing Darryl’s hands and mouth to where he wanted them, nor in delivering verbal instructions where necessary; ‘It’s a nipple, it’s not going to break, bite harder’; ‘If you tickle me, I will knee you in the balls’; ‘You’ve got big hands, put ‘em somewhere useful, like my dick’. 

There were only a few places Darryl wasn’t allowed to touch. Old scars which weren’t made by any physical weapon, one just below where his ribs curved around his sides, the other lying low on his thigh. The one time Darryl accidentally pressed against that one, Bryn let out a pained gasp and his hand shot out to close painfully tightly around Darryl’s wrist.

“Don’t,” he ground out.

Anger rose in Darryl, that someone would mark Bryn with something that caused him so much pain. Part possessive and part protective, the intensity of his reaction took him slightly by surprise. He ignored both to focus on Bryn.

Stroking his thumb over Bryn’s tight fist, he murmured, “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Bryn said through unsteady breaths.

With the mood lost, Darryl moved off Bryn to lie beside him, laying his hand in the centre of Bryn’s chest until the rapid heaves slowed into a more regular rhythm.

While Bryn slept, Darryl wondered if there was a way to counteract the effects of the scars. If he could find one, it might earn him Bryn’s gratitude, and provide another tie to Eastwick. Equally, it could simply serve to speed his departure. Whatever Bryn was here for, he no doubt planned to leave once he’d found it, and Darryl had more than one reason for wanting to keep him around.

In his sleep, Bryn shifted and made a pained sound, quieting when Darryl stroked a hand over his hair. Darryl made a note to find Kat tomorrow. There were other ways to ensure that Bryn stayed.

\--

Lunchtime found them visiting the Greasy Stool. For once, Bryn consented to be driven. This, Darryl suspected, had something to do with the fact that he’d limped to the shower this morning, and twitched away from Darryl’s hands when he’d joined him. “Sorry,” he’d said. “Just… sore.” 

Now, in the car, Bryn was still and quiet, his usual spark not quite as bright as it usually was. It made Darryl’s fingers itch to close around the neck of whoever’s doing it was, to strangle the life from them as surely as they had put their restraint on Bryn.

The bar was empty save for its now part-time tender, and her two friends, all of whom waved when they walked in.

“Just the people I was hoping to see,” Darryl said as he and Bryn walked over to them.

With a teasing smile, Roxie said, “Really? I thought you might have forgotten about us, what with the way you and Bryn have been holed up together these last few weeks.”

From behind the bar, Joanna piped up, “Yeah! Although…” She gave Bryn a good look over. “I have to say, I don’t blame you for wanting to keep him to yourself for a while.”

Snorting into her drink, Kat elbowed Joanna. “Joanna! You’ve only just met the man.”

“Sorry,” Joanna said. “But you’re really kinda cute, you know.”

With an awkward rub of his hand over the back of his head, Bryn said, “Uh, thanks?”

It was, Darryl decided, probably safe to leave him with Roxie and Joanna while he talked to Kat. 

Kat agreed almost immediately to help Bryn, if he let her, and if she could. “I don’t know anything about healing magical wounds, or whatever they are,” she warned. “I might not be able to do anything. I’d like to try though; he doesn’t deserve to be in pain.”

“We don’t all get what we deserve,” Darryl pointed out. 

“True,” Kat replied, as she looked over to the bar.

Darryl followed her gaze to where Bryn was leaning forwards to point at various bottles, which Joanna placed in front of him. After he checked that no-one else had come in, he wiggled his fingers and rolled his shoulders. A moment later, streams of brightly coloured syrups and spirits lifted themselves from their bottles to spin through the air in a whirlwind of ever-decreasing radius, which funneled itself into the glass in front of Bryn and there died down to a perfectly mixed drink.

With wide eyes, Joanna stared at him open-mouthed, and then shook herself. “That. Was. Incredible. You have _got_ to teach me how to do that.”

Roxie raised her glass. “Gotta admit, I’m impressed.”

Even from here, Darryl could see the smile tugging at the corners of Bryn’s mouth, and the pleased flush tinging his cheeks. If this was what Bryn could do when he wasn’t at his best, held back by pain and whatever else those scars were doing to him, then his full potential would be magnificent. The uses for a power of that magnitude were almost more than Darryl could count.

“He’s something special,” Kat said quietly. When Darryl looked at her, she laid a hand on his arm before she stood, eyes signalling a certain degree of understanding “Let me know when you want me to come over,” she said, before taking her drink back over to join the revelry at the bar. Darryl left them to it for as long as they forgot about him, and let Bryn make friends.

\--

Bryn’s response when Darryl suggested letting Kat take a look at his scars was a shrug and an offhand, “Sure, why not. No-one else has been able to sort them out, but it can’t hurt to try.”

While he was relaxed and talking, Darryl pushed carefully. “Where did you get them from?”

Face closing off, Bryn shook his head. “I’m not talking about that.”

“Alright,” Darryl said, and let it go.

When he held out his hand, Bryn hesitated. Darryl lowered it, and Bryn stepped forwards. Then he let himself be tugged down onto the sofa, breath catching when Darryl knelt in front of it to undo his jeans and pull them slowly down his legs. “Alright?” Darryl asked. In response, Bryn slid his hand to the back of Darryl’s head and pulled him forward. When Darryl took him in his mouth, Bryn let out a sigh, and his fingers loosened to stroke through Darryl’s hair, rocking gently into Darryl’s mouth until Darryl brought him off carefully and quickly.

Slumped back against the cushions, eyes closed, Bryn murmured, “They’re both from the same person. It was someone I should have known better to go after. So, of course, I went after them twice. These are what I got for it.”

Darryl stroked a hand over his shin, and didn’t ask anything else.

\--

Kat greeted them both with a kiss on the cheek, and then shooed Darryl into a corner while Bryn watched with a snigger. Then Kat turned back to him and said, “So, where are these scars?”

“It’s probably easier if I just show you,” Bryn said. “You mind?”

“I’m a nurse,” she said. “Take off whatever you need to.”

Thankfully, Bryn had had the foresight to borrow a pair of Darryl’s boxers this morning. The silk looked distinctly out of place on him, but did preserve his modesty, or possibly Kat’s.

As still as he stood, Bryn’s nerves were not particularly well hidden. Yesterday’s nonchalance stood very little chance in the face of the reality of now. Beneath Kat’s careful hands though, he calmed, and the tension eased from his limbs as Kat traced her fingers beneath his ribs, tracing out the vague pattern which lay in the mass of fine white lines there.

After she knelt to echo her investigation on the scars of his thigh, Kat stood again. “I can’t heal these,” she said, regretful and frustrated all at once. “There’s something…” She moved her hands on his ribs, and shook her head. “Something in there that won’t let me.”

Bryn shrugged, not quite hiding his disappointment. “That’s OK. I didn’t expect you to. Thanks for trying though.”

As he went to move away, Kat’s frown slipped into something deeper, and she stopped Bryn with a hand on his arm. “Wait,” she said, framing his torso with her hands once more. “Just… Stay still.”

Stock still, Bryn did as he was told, hope flaring on his face while concentration contorted Kat’s. Her knuckles turned white, and Bryn’s hands tensed into fists. Then power erupted in the room, invisible and silent but making Darryl’s ears roar with the crash of warring powers. Kat gasped, and Bryn bit his lip, then let out a sharp cry, but flung out a hand, _stop_ , in Darryl’s direction when he moved towards them.

After long moments, the roar stopped. Kat lifted her hands, and Bryn slumped onto the floor, hitting his knees with a painful thud that didn’t seem to register. The scars weren’t gone, but when Darryl knelt beside him and put a hand to one, Bryn gave him a weak smile and didn’t stop him.

“They’re not healed,” Kat said. “Not fully. I don’t know what was in there, but I think I got some of it out.”

“You did,” Bryn said hoarsely. After a moment, he put a hand out, and gripped Kat’s tightly. “Thank you.”

Kat smiled, and covered Bryn’s hand in hers. Then she looked at Darryl, and told him sternly, “You look after Bryn, alright? I have absolutely no idea what I just did to him, but it probably wasn’t pleasant to go through.”

After Kat was gone, Darryl came back to find Bryn still on the floor, only just managing to keep himself upright. “Not pleasant at all, I take it?” Darryl enquired.

“It hurt like hell,” Bryn replied. There was a pale sheen to his face. “Help me up? I need to sleep.”

His skin was clammy to the touch, and his legs kept buckling as they went up the stairs. When Darryl led him to the bed, he practically collapsed onto it, eyes already shut as he sprawled out on his front. Darryl drew the covers up over him, pulled up a chair to the side of the bed, and watched until the worn-in lines ease from Bryn’s face, and he started to snore.

\--

The next morning, Darryl awoke to an empty room and a crick in his neck. Rubbing at it irritatedly, he crossed to the window, and looked down to see Bryn wielding the broadsword again. There was none of the freedom of movement that Darryl had seen the first time; instead, Bryn was taking himself through structured drills, over and over, repeating the same motions until they couldn’t get any tighter, any faster, any more powerful, and then moving on to the next.

Darryl nodded. “I thought so.”

\--

There was a storm building, ominous rumbles echoing in the distance, an oppressive air around everything. Darryl had barely seen Bryn over the last few days, not since Kat had healed him. He’d expected as much, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. 

Nor did it mean he had to let it continue.

Out on the cliffs, jacket wrapped around him, Darryl followed Bryn’s trail, as faint as he’d ever felt it. Bryn really was doing his best not to be found. Well, tough.

After more miles than Darryl cared to think about - and after almost mistaking Bryn for a small bush, that damned coat apparently including camouflage in amongst its gifts - Darryl found him. In the middle of a patch of herbs that Darryl had no idea even grew out there, Bryn sat, knife in one hand and cloth bag in the other. For all the trouble that Bryn must have gone to in order to find them, he was simply staring at them, head bowed and body still.

“Powerful plants,” Darryl called out when it became clear that Bryn was as yet unaware of his presence.

In a flash, Bryn stood and whirled to face him, a snarl on his face and the knife now held with purpose. Even when recognition flashed across his face, he didn’t pull out of his low crouch. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he growled.

“What do you think I’m doing here?” Darryl replied, letting a hint of his own growl come into his voice. “You’re not stupid, Bryn. I’m following you.”

The anger didn’t dissipate, but Bryn did put his knife back into its sheath. Darryl took a few steps closer, although not within arms reach, and crouched to pluck one perfect purple flower.

“You could do a lot of different types of damage with this,” he remarked as he stood. “Hypnotism, paralysis, permanent coma. It can give literal meaning to the phrase ‘make the blood boil’ as well. Of course, you have to mix it with the right minerals, and find one of the few witches who knows the correct incantation. Nasty way to die. Very effective, though, and there’s no antidote either.”

The tension rolled off Bryn, releasing itself in gusts of wind that sent warning chills down Darryl’s spine. “I’ve already found someone who knows how to make it,” Bryn gritted out.

“Well then, you’re all set.” Darryl held out the flower, tightening his grip when the wind threatened to take it from his grasp.

With a harsh laugh, Bryn strode over to snatch the flower from Darryl’s hand. “If I use this,” he said, “I’d be no better than -”

He cut himself with his teeth closing around his tongue, and turned away to hurl the flower away. The wind rose, gusting hard enough that Darryl had to struggle to stay on his feet, whipping the flower out of sight in an instant. When it died down, Bryn’s shoulders slumped. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It probably wouldn’t work anyway.”

“I could help,” Darryl told him.

With a snort, Bryn turned to face him, anger damped by resignation, but not gone. “You don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“There’s not much that I can’t do.”

Frustration rose on Bryn’s face. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Darryl stepped in, holding Bryn’s eyes, not letting Bryn look away from his. “And you know that there’s not much I _won’t_ do.”

“Why?” Bryn asked. “What would you want in return?”

“You come back here afterwards, and you stay.”

For a moment, the surprise on Bryn’s face was entirely unconcealed. “Why would you want me to do that?”

“Because you’re the most fascinating, attractive, powerful man I’ve ever met.”

That edge returned to Bryn’s voice, and he sneered at Darryl. “Like Roxie and Kat and Joanna are the most powerful women you’ve met? I know what you want them for. And you know what? I’m not sticking around just so you can fuck me and take what I have for yourself.”

“Don’t even begin to think you know the half of my interest in those three,” Darryl snapped. “And before you jump to conclusions about why I want to you here, why don’t you try listening to me?” 

The sneer faded, a last-ditch attempt at resistance fading with a wary nod at Darryl’s words.

“You’re far more of interest to me as you are now, Bryn, don’t ever doubt that. As uniquely powerful as Roxie, Kat and Joanna are, in many ways, they’re so very young. But you… Well, let’s put it this way: You look incredibly good for your age.”

Bryn let out a tired laugh, and shook his head. Darryl lifted a hand, and slowly cupped it around Bryn’s cheek. Bryn let him, eyes all of a sudden looking every bit as old as they were. Lowering his voice, Darryl carried on. “Don’t you ever stop to wonder what you could do with an equal by your side, Bryn? We could do so much together. All of it. You already know what we’re like together in bed - and we’ve barely even gotten started on what we can do there, I promise you. Stay, and we’ll find out what we can do elsewhere.”

“And in return, you’ll help me with -?”

“Whatever you need. I assure you, I can find a way.”

He stroked his thumb over Bryn’s cheek, and Bryn’s eyes drifted shut. He looked like he’d given in, but when he spoke, it was to say, “I can’t.” A moment later, he braced himself, and pulled away. In that single step backwards, he became once more a lone figure, bearing the solitude that was never meant to be his. “If I let you help me, it’ll get me where I’m going a whole lot faster.”

Darryl gestured at the bleak landscape around them. “You’d rather stay like this?”

“It’s a damn sight better than where I’m going to end up when I get this thing done.”

“Take it from me, there are worse places than hell to spend eternity.”

Bryn shook his head, a hint of dark amusement crossing his face. “Maybe for you.”

Slowly, Darryl nodded his head in acknowledgement. He’d laid out what Bryn could have. The acceptance was something he wouldn’t force. “Alright. If you change your mind though, the offer is open.”

The wind was the only answer, swirling the bottom of Bryn’s coat before it whistled between them. Nodding again, Darryl left, and didn’t look back. The rest was up to Bryn.

\--

Late that night there was a knock at Darryl’s door, almost lost in the hammering of the rain against the windows. When he opened the door, Bryn stood there, soaked to the skin despite his coat, weariness emanating from every inch of his body.

“Did you find what you need?” Darryl asked, as he shut the door behind them both.

“There’s lots of things I need,” Bryn said.

When Darryl, letting annoyance colour his actions, closed his hands on Bryn’s collar and pushed him into the wall, Bryn didn’t object. Then he surprised Darryl by reaching up to lay a cold hand on the side of his face, and murmuring, “I’ve found what I want though.”

Upstairs, Darryl stripped him of his wet clothes, towelled him dry, and then pushed him back onto the bed and pressed him into the mattress with his body. Bryn gasped at the heat, then arched into it, dragging Darryl closer with clumsy hands so that they were pressed together from their chests down to their ankles. 

Then he shivered long and hard, and when he stopped, Darryl slid their mouths together to kiss him slowly and thoroughly. Breathing in the warmth, Bryn wriggled and muttered insistent pleas as he nipped at Darryl’s lip, whimpering in protest when Darryl lifted himself up on one elbow.

“Shhh,” Darryl murmured, and got a hand around both of their erections, bringing them together in his hand. That didn’t shut Bryn up, but he went loose again and mumbled out his pleasure. In between, he lifted his head to get Darryl to kiss him again, until he couldn’t breathe and fell back onto the pillow. 

When he came, it was with his arms wrapped around Darryl and his ankles hooked around Darryl’s legs. There he stayed until Darryl had spilled between them as well, and when he slept, it was with his arm across Darryl’s waist and his face pushed into his shoulder.

\--

It was only a few hours later when Darryl awoke to the slight rustle of covers as Bryn rolled infinitesimally slowly out of the bed. Waiting until the warm patch next to him had cooled, Darryl pulled on his pants, and followed Bryn down to the basement. 

Despite the lock on the door, it was, of course, open. Silently, Darryl walked into the room where he stored the majority of the magical artefacts he had collected over the years. At one side, fully dressed in front of the broadsword cabinet, was Bryn. His hand reached out unerringly for the weapon contained within. When he picked it up, his face fell, anticipation giving way to incomprehension. 

Darryl stepped forwards. “It’s not the real one,” he said.

Bryn whirled to face him, then looked down at the sword, and flung it away. “What did you do with it?” he demanded, vibrating with barely repressed violence.

“I think a better question is, what were you planning to do with it?” Darryl asked. 

The question earned him Bryn’s hand tight around his throat for a moment, before he was shoved backwards into the wall, and held there with Bryn’s knee against his crotch. 

Ignoring the pressure, he continued, “The sword you’re looking for was forged a long time ago. Back then, there was a need to defend against powerful beings bent on all kinds of destruction. They don’t exist any more, so what do you need it for?”

After a moment, Bryn let out a mirthless laugh and shook his head. “Nothing so noble.”

Letting go, he turned away. Darryl moved away from the wall, wincing slightly. Apparently Bryn wasn’t in the mood to go easy on anything at the moment.

“And here I thought your people were all about nobility,” Darryl said to his back. “Oh yes,” he added when Bryn turned around, startled and wary. “There’s enough hidden in folklore and historical records, if you know where to look.”

Tiredness coloured Bryn’s anger. “Yeah, well, they’re not around to enforce any of their codes any more.”

“So what does it matter if you tell me what you want the sword for?”

For a moment, Darryl thought he was about to get punched, but then Bryn whirled and slammed his fist into the wall instead.

“Fuck,” he hissed, shaking his now bleeding hand. “Because it’s none of your damn business, OK?”

“Try again,” Darryl said, stepping in to glare down the hostility in Bryn’s eyes. “You made it my business when you turned up here.”

“Because I tried to steal your damn sword?”

“That sword is no more mine than it is yours.”

“Then why do you give a damn what I want to do with it?”

“Maybe I give a damn about you,” Darryl growled out.

Bryn’s eyes closed. When Darryl reached out to close his hand carefully around the bruised fist that was dripping onto the floor, Bryn drew in a breath.

“Tell me what you need the sword for,” Darryl murmured.

“I can’t,” Bryn said. “It’s not your burden to bear. Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

“Because I don’t think _you_ want to do it alone.”

Shoulders sagging, the last of his defiance vanishing, Bryn shook his head. “Yeah, well, you’re right about that.” He opened his eyes, and gave Darryl a crooked smile, full of resignation and determination, even though his hand was shaking in Darryl’s. “It’s my dragon to slay though. I’m no prince, but I’ve gotta try.”

And there were some battles, Darryl knew, that had to be ceded to win the war. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

He let go of Bryn’s hand. “Alright.”

With a blink, Bryn asked, “You’ll give me the sword?”

Darryl nodded. “Did you see that statue of a knight on your way down here?”

“That crappy excuse for a - you didn’t?”

The look on Bryn’s face when he pulled the sword from where the gauntlet of the admittedly tasteless statue was one of wary recognition; both of its power, and of the path it would require Bryn to walk. He didn’t put it down though, and Darryl felt a rush of admiration for his convictions, along with annoyance that they would take Bryn away.

“Now what?” Darryl asked, looking out to where the sky was showing the first hints of lightening.

Following his gaze, Bryn’s eyes then went to the stairs at the top of which the hallway lead to Darryl’s room, and back to the sword. “If I give this back to Prancelot, is it still going to be here in the morning?”

Quirking a smile at the naming of the knight, Darryl nodded. “You have my word.” Keeping Bryn here with trickery would not get Darryl what he wanted.

The sword returned to its temporary owner, Bryn held out his hand to Darryl. “Take me back to bed.”

\--

They got in a few hours of urgent, needy touching, drawing everything out until the sun lit up Bryn’s hair like white fire, and he wrapped his legs around Darryl’s waist to urge them both to completion. Then they dressed in silence, and Darryl retrieved the sword while Bryn gulped his coffee down.

At the edge of Darryl’s land, the dogs behind them, Darryl stopped and held the sword partway between them. “I made you a deal yesterday,” he reminded Bryn. “I’d say this counts as helping you.”

With a step closer, Bryn laid his hand on the hilt of the sword, fingers brushing against Darryl’s. “I never accepted the deal.”

“You still could.” _You still want to_. “My help, in exchange for your return here.”

Glancing over to the horizon, a wistful smile graced Bryn’s lips. “I could be a while.”

When he looked back at Darryl, Darryl nodded. “Oh, I’ll wait,” he said, and let go of the sword.

Bryn fastened its leather strap around his chest, and then slid his hands around the back of Darryl’s neck, holding him tightly. Darryl took Bryn’s face in his hands, pressing his warmth into the cool of his cheeks, and then leaned in to brush his lips against Bryn’s, lingering for long moments before he deepened it, turning it into a promise of everything that would be waiting for Bryn on his return.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” Bryn said hoarsely when Darryl let him go. 

Then he turned and walked away along the edge of the cliffs. The sea was calm, but waves splashed up and over to cover him in the mist of their spray. Darryl watched until he was a speck in the distance, then turned his gaze to the sky, where grey clouds were rolling across in Bryn’s wake.

“May you slay your dragon, Bryn,” he told the sky. A raindrop fell on his head, and he added, “Sooner rather than later, please.”

The storm was fast and furious, over almost as soon as it had begun. In its aftermath, the air was clear of even the faintest hint of Bryn’s presence. It was a loss that Darryl felt more keenly than he had expected. It was however tempered by the knowledge that when Bryn came back, it would be of his own free will, and it would be for far longer than the mere month he’d spent here this time.

For that willing surrender, Darryl could wait for as long as it took.


End file.
